


Inherited Scars

by Nomanono



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono
Summary: Victor thought he escaped. What he didn't realize was that someone had to take his place.





	1. Old Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags and do not read if this is going to hurt you beyond your capacity to handle it. Take care of yourselves <3

Yuuri lost track of time in the showers. The hot water was like a sedative, pouring down his hair, over his body, and suspending him from reality. By the time he finally turned the water off and stepped out his whole body was wrinkled with saturation.

Toweling off, he stepped into the locker room and found Yuri. He was easing his costume off with a wince as it scraped over a sizable bruise on the front of his hip. 

“How did you get that?” Yuuri asked. Yuri startled, hitting his head on the locker as he jumped and cursing off Yuuri as he turned to hide the mark. It wasn’t quite his normal fury, either. He opened his mouth to reply twice before snarling:

“If you would actually try the quadruple loop maybe you’d know.”

“Quadruple loop?” Yuuri gaped. It was virtually impossible. “You can do a quadruple loop?” 

Yuri hissed again, “Does it look like it?!”

“Sorry,” Yuuri frowned. He turned away from Yuri, taking his clothes out of his locker and slipping them on without further incident.

——

“Something’s missing in your program,” Victor said when Yuuri skated to him, panting, having run through it for the fifth time that day. 

Victor was exhausted too, in the middle of reworking his own performance, but he always made time for Yuuri. 

“You need something… hmm,” Victor said. He gave Yuuri a sly grin. “Perhaps you should start training for the quadruple loop.”

Yuuri paled. “Victor…”

Victor laughed, “Yuuri, it was only a joke.”

Yuuri’s look of relief only lasted for a moment. “But… Yurio’s training for it,” Yuuri frowned. 

Again, Victor laughed: “No he isn’t.”

“He is. He said so,” Yuuri insisted. “I saw his bruises from it.” And Yuuri set a hand on his hip where he’d seen the marks. 

Victor froze.

No, he didn’t just freeze; he looked like he’d been shot. He looked like he couldn’t breath. His eyes widened, pupils narrowed, and his mouth contorted into a pained, voiceless cry.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked in alarm. He touched Victor’s hand, brow furrowed. “Victor, are you okay?”

No response.

“Victor?!”

Victor shuddered, choking as he finally breathed again, and wrapped Yuuri in his arms. Not a hug like they shared alone, in the evenings, when they were both tired and desiring comfort. Not a hug like they shared on the ice, when they were both elated and in love. This was something desperate. Something a child might do to a teddy bear when they heard thunder. 

“Victor,” Yuuri said again, because he was worried, genuinely worried, and the pressure of his arms around Victor’s waist didn’t feel like enough.

“It can't be true."

——

Victor went to the lockers, not bothering to take off his skates. He walked in his guards on the tiled floor, hoping he wasn’t too late. The area was empty, most of the other skaters having left long ago, but Yakov always made Yuri stay until he was satisfied for the day. 

Victor found him just as he was shouldering his skate bag. He pushed it off Yuri’s arm, grabbed Yuri’s wrist as it flailed in response. 

“What are you doing?!” Yuri asked, kicking at him, but Victor took the hit. He pushed Yuri against the lockers and grabbed at his clothes.

“Stop! STOP!” Yuri cried out, but Victor was deaf to it, and at some point, some point when Victor’s hand landed on the front of his hip, Yuri froze, and didn’t cry out anymore, and went limp under Victor’s touch. 

Victor pulled down the waistband of Yuri’s pants, revealing an ugly, blooming bruise across his hip. Skaters were no stranger to bruises - any athlete’s body might have a half dozen at any given point in time, some stacked atop each other to create sickly rainbows of blue and purple, yellow and green. 

But skating bruises didn’t look this. 

Didn’t have fingermarks.

Victor trembled. Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop them and poured over. Memories long suppressed rose unbidden. Hands at his hips, holding onto him, crushing his skin against the bones below. Heat and heaviness behind him. On top of him. 

Inside of him.

Victor looked up and found Yuri still immobile, staring upwards with blank, hollow eyes, like he wanted to cry, too, but had run out of tears long ago.


	2. Perpetuation

“You can’t do this to him! He’s a _child_ ,” Victor said, his voice shaking. 

“Most of Europe would disagree,” Yakov said, as if they were discussing the weather. “Besides. How much older were you? A few months?”

Victor didn’t want to cry - swore he’d cried the last time over this. But being in this office again, talking like this again.

“I thought you’d _stopped_ ,” Victor choked. 

“Maybe you just got too old for me.”

Victor winced, turned away, hands grabbing at hair he’d cut short to get away from this. 

“You have to stop,” Victor said. 

“He _chose_ this,” Yakov said. He came over and cupped Victor’s chin in his hand. His thumb stroked Victor’s lower lip, the callous catching and pulling the flesh. “Just like you did.” 

Victor felt that familiar paralysis set in. He felt sick. Every bone in his body was telling him to run, but he couldn’t _move_. Yakov brushed the long bangs back from Victor’s eyes, staring at him without any semblance of remorse. The opposite, even. As if this was inevitable. Unavoidable. 

Inescapable.

“He wants to be the best, same as you,” Yakov said. The tears that had been threatening finally won, a single wet trail down Victor’s cheek. 

“He knows we all have to make sacrifices to succeed.”

——

Yuuri sat on the edge of Victor’s bed, frowning down at his curled form. Victor had been tossing and turning all night, keeping Yuuri awake with the grind of his teeth and the strained noises he made as he dreamt. He’d awoken when Yuuri’s weight shifted the mattress, and now stared up, breathing heavily, filtering his dreams from reality.

“I’m worried about you,” Yuuri said. “Please tell me what’s wrong?” 

Yuuri brushed Victor’s hair back from his face, something he’d done a hundred times before, but this was the first time it made Victor wince away. 

Victor realized what he’d done immediately and his eyes widened. He sat up, grabbed Yuuri’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry. You startled me."

Something in his eyes made Yuuri ache, and yet Victor couldn’t bring himself to speak anything more. He pulled Yuuri into his arms again, that same frightened hug, and hid his face in Yuuri’s neck. 

“Victor…” Yuuri frowned. 

——

Two sleepless nights before Victor met Yuri in the lockers again. Two agonizing days watching Yuri at practice, watching him growl and snarl, watching his mask. Wondering if his own mask had been as good. When had it started? 

_“If selling my soul is what it takes to win, I’ll give you this body, no holds barred.”_ \- Isn’t that what he’d said to Lilia? Had it already been happening then?

Victor couldn’t take it anymore.

“You have to get out of this,” Victor said when they were alone, holding Yuri’s shoulders. “You have to make him stop, leave him, report him, you have to —“

Victor’s voice cut off as he realized what he was saying. Yuri wasn’t looking at him, was staring off to the side with that same hollow glaze in his eyes. Victor knew exactly what Yuri was thinking, knew exactly how empty Victor’s words had to sound.

“Did you?” Yuri finally asked. So simple. Two words, whispered into the quiet of the locker room, and the weight of the world fell on Victor Nikiforov. 

“...No."


	3. Cleansing

Yuuri sat in his bed, watching Victor on the other, his face screwed into a pensive frown. He still hadn’t told Yuuri what was bothering him, which only made Yuuri worry more. Yuuri had been going out of his way to take care of things in the apartment, anything that might add to whatever stress Victor was going through.

Besides that? He just tried to be there.

They were watching old videos of Plushenko when a knock sounded at the door. Their apartment was small enough that Yuuri could see from bed when Victor opened it. Yuri stood there, silent, shoulders hunched and posture stiff. If they exchanged words, Yuuri couldn’t hear it, and the next moment Victor was wrapping an arm around Yuri and pulling him inside, holding him tight.

When he moved, Yuuri caught the slightest hint of a limp in Yuri’s gait, a flash of pain on his face as he stepped inside. 

“What happened?” Victor asked, so soft Yuuri had to strain to hear. 

Yuuri couldn’t make out Yuri’s mumbled response. Had he fallen? Hurt himself? 

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked as he came up to them. The two froze, twin expressions of surprise on their faces, though Yuri's shifted quickly to a glare.

“Does he know?” Yuri asked, and Yuuri had never heard him sound so tired, defeated.

“Know what?” Yuuri frowned. Relief flashed on Yuri’s face. He looked at Victor, without any of his usual venom, and said: “Thank you.”

Victor just nodded.

“Yuuri,” he said. Yuuri’s attention lifted to Victor, confusion thick in his eyes. “I need you to trust me and give us some time alone. Please?”

Yuuri’s frown deepened for only a moment before it relaxed into a trusting resolve. “If I can do anything, tell me,” Yuuri said, touching Victor’s hand. He grabbed his phone, pulled on a jacket, and left.

——

“He was so angry,” Yuri growled when the door closed. "I don’t know what I did. I landed most of my quads, I hit all my extensions, I —“

“It doesn’t matter,” Victor said softly, helping Yuri into the main area of the apartment. “It took me a long time to realize that. It doesn’t matter what you do. Can you sit?”

Yuri grimaced.

“Here, lay down then,” Victor said, veering Yuri towards the bed and straightening his comforter. Yuri glared at the blanket as he settled on it, glared at the wall, glared at the world. Victor went to the kitchenette, still visible to Yuri, and pulled two bags of peas from the freezer. With a crunch, he loosened the cold granules in the bag and then came back and laid one over Yuri’s hip. He set the other one next to Yuri's lower hip, and Yuri pushed his hand away, placing it himself. 

“Why two beds?” Yuri asked after a minute. 

“Yuuri’s particular,” Victor smiled. "Wants to wait until we're married." Yuri was taking slow, even breaths. Victor recognized the pattern: when you didn’t want to think about anything else. Couldn’t, or you’d fall apart.

“We could watch more Plushenko, but first… ah-…” Victor started, but as he formed the sentence in his head he grimaced.

“What?” Yuri glared.

“...are you bleeding?” Victor asked, trying not to let his voice hitch as he did. Yuri’s eyes closed, his hand tightening into a fist. Quickly: “You don’t have to tell me."

“I don’t know,” Yuri muttered without opening his eyes. “It just hurts." Victor nodded, his teeth grazing his lip. His started to speak several times before it worked:

“Blood makes it worse,” Victor said, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “It scabs and if —“ Victor swallowed, took a breath, smoothed his hands over his knees so Yuri wouldn’t see the way they shook, “if he's rough again when you’re scabbed the scab can come off and it just keeps getting bigger...” Victor trailed off, realizing they were both shaking now. “You should check, if you can, and clean it up. Just a warm wash cloth… I can get one for you.”

He stood.

“Let me do it,” Yuri said, opening his eyes and giving Victor a powerful look. “Let me do it.” He pushed himself up, gathering his feet under him despite the way it hurt. Victor didn’t object. Stepping back, he let Yuri wince his way to the bathroom. 

Yuri shut the door behind him and Victor stayed outside, sitting down on the floor. He heard the trickle of water from the faucet, the shuffle of clothes, the hiss of pain as Yuri cleaned himself.

“Tsch!” Victor heard Yuri gasp, a soft noise, shocked.

“Are you alright?” Victor asked. 

No response. 

“Yuri?”

Silence. 

Victor stood and knocked gently on the door. “Can I come in?”

“No!” Yuri flinched. Victor couldn’t hear anything else. “It’s — there’s blood —"

“Don’t look at it,” Victor said through the door. “Don’t think about it. Just rinse it off. Keep rinsing until it’s clear.”

The sound of water again, splashing, almost frantic. “Don’t forget to breathe,” Victor said. "I always panicked; I’d find myself dizzy and realize I’d been breathing shallow since it happened.”

A slight change in the sounds, a pause.

Victor closed his eyes against the memories. “Behind the mirror, there’s a jar of ointment with bacitracin in it. When the blood’s gone, use some.” He looked down, discovered his arms were crossed tight across his chest. It took all of his willpower to breathe and untangle his limbs. "You can have it; keep it in your bathroom and use it whenever you’re there. It’ll keep things from getting infected.”

Soft, shuffling sounds, interspersed with periods of silence. 

The door opened several minutes later and Yuri stepped out, hands tightening and loosening at his side. 

“Any better?” Victor asked, standing from his camped position beyond the door. Yuri gave a faint nod. 

“I should go,” Yuri said. Victor watched him piece together his mask, slowly reconstructing the fantasy that everything was fine. “Before your pig has a heart attack.”

“Stay here tonight,” Victor offered. He threw Yuri a smile, gesturing to the TV. “There’s plenty of Plushenko left.”

Yuri’s nostril lifted like he was about to sneer and turn it down, but his expression faltered as he looked to the door. “Will you make Yuuri sleep on the couch?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Victor said. “You take my bed."

Yuri looked over at the bed, at the bags of peas, at the rumpled pillow and the tiny picture frame of Victor and Yuuri on the nightstand.

“I have to go,” Yuri said. “He’ll be mad if I’m not there in the morning.” He fled, and Victor found he couldn’t move to chase him. 

After all, he was right.


	4. Heirlooms

Victor watched the interview over Yuuri’s shoulder. They were in Yuuri’s bed, which was tucked into the corner and littered with pillows - as much couch as bed, for now. Victor reclined against the plushness while Yuuri reclined against him, computer on his lap.

“How does it feel to finally compete against your rink mate, Victor Nikiforov?” the interviewer asked.

“I learn everything I can from Victor so that I can take his place as Russia’s champion,” Yuri said. His face, as always, held that angry resilience and bloodthirsty determination.

“Coach Feltsman, how do you balance your time between these two gold medalists?” 

Victor tensed as Yakov’s hand came to rest on Yuri’s shoulder. To his credit, Yuri hardly flinched. If anything he straightened, remembering that he was supposed to be beautiful. 

“Victor has had years under my tutelage,” Yakov said. “He still has room to grow, but I must make sure Yuri reaches his full potential.” As he said it, his hand squeezed around Yuri’s shoulder.

Victor closed Yuuri’s laptop. 

“Wha—?” Yuuri started. Victor dipped his head, turning Yuuri’s face to the side and capturing his lips, and that was all it took for Yuuri to forget. Victor was not so lucky.

—— 

“Yuri?” Victor caught up to him the next day in the lockers after practice. He and Yuuri had been staying later and later, always under the guise of making sure Victor had time to coach Yuri after Victor's own practice sessions. It was true, but it wasn’t the only reason Victor wanted to stay.

“I have something for you,” Victor said as he came into Yuri’s square of lockers.

“If it’s a formal request that I retire and save you an embarrassing loss, I won’t do it,” Yuri said. 

Victor’s smile widened, almost a smirk, and he touched a finger to the center of Yuri’s forehead. “I will crush you.”

Yuri made his ‘tsch!’ noise and swatted Victor’s hand away, turning back to his locker. “What do you want?"

“To see how you were doing.”

“Mmm baka,” Yuri growled, frowning. “I’m fine.” But he’d stopped futzing with things in his locker, now just stared into it. “… the ointment helped."

“I thought of something else…” Victor said. Seeing Yakov’s hand on Yuri’s shoulder had triggered the memory, and he’d spent the night, after Yuuri was asleep, digging through boxes in the closet, still unpacked since they’d moved in. “…does he still let you keep your shirt on?” Victor asked. 

Yuri’s face twitched in shame at the question, but his head bobbed affirmatively. 

Victor pulled a thick hoodie from his bag. Despite its age it didn’t look any worse for wear. The embossed golden eagle on the front was slightly crackled, and the tie was missing from the hood, but otherwise the color was hardly faded, the material free of pilling. “Here. Try this on.”

“What is it?” Yuri asked, giving it his normal judgmental sneer. 

“Put it on.”

Looking none too pleased about it, Yuri shoved an arm into one sleeve, then the other. The sweatshirt hung off his frame, coming down to mid-thigh. “It’s too big.”

“That’s the point,” Victor said. “I filled the pockets, too. Socks, tissues, nothing anyone would think twice about, but soft.”

Yuri glared at Victor, still not understanding. Victor canted his head, then set a hand on Yuri’s hip. The sweatshirt was long enough that Victor’s palm wound up over the pockets, the stuffing creating soft handholds that dissipated the pressure of his grip. “I always put it on before I went to his office. Kept the bruises down.”

Yuri stared down at Victor’s hand. 

“Yuri!” they both jumped at Yakov’s voice. Yuri cast a glance over his shoulder, expression unreadable. 

“I have to go,” he said, but he didn’t take off the sweatshirt.

——

It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes that Victor sat there on the bench in the locker room, but it was enough pain for a lifetime. Ten minutes, knowing exactly what was happening some thirty meters away. He had hundreds of seconds to relive his own memories, to struggle against the supreme hopelessness of his past and the crushing despair of knowing it had become someone else’s future. It didn’t seem real, sitting there. He kept expecting the lights to sputter or to hear screams or for the earth to shake, but that was the terrifying part, wasn’t it? There was nothing to tell everyone else _something’s wrong_.

When he heard the office door open, he stood. Yuri came around the lockers a few moments later and stopped when he saw Victor still there.

And even Yuri looked fine. Just like the rest of the world. Just like everything else. Their shared torture was a secret, a look that lasted a little too long; nothing more.

“He recognized it,” Yuri said after the silence. “He said your name… it made him gentle.”

Victor forced himself not to wince, not to grimace. The last thing he wanted when it was him was pity. Instead he moved forward and collected Yuri into his arms, hugging him close. 

“It was almost easier when he wasn’t."


	5. Stretch

“Leave,” Yuri said as he walked into Victor and Yuuri’s apartment. He didn’t even bother to look at Yuuri, just walked past him as he held the door open. The knock had come after dinner, with no warning or preamble.

“One day you’re going to say please,” Yuuri said, shoving his shoulder against Yuri’s as he grabbed Maccachin and left.

Yuri waited, and Victor waited, the latter watching for any cues as to what put Yuri in his current mood. 

“Forget it,” Yuri finally said, and he turned to leave again. Victor grabbed his wrist, stopping his momentum. Yuri’s hand still rested on the doorknob, and several more seconds passed in silence.

“Grab my hips,” Yuri whispered, so softly that Victor couldn’t be sure he heard him.

“What?”

“ _Do it_ ,” Yuri stressed, eyes screwed up, hands clenching into fists. Yuri wasn’t looking at Victor, didn’t see the way his fingertips twitched against the motion.

When they did move, Victor laid his hands carefully over Yuri’s hips, holding them where he knew the bruises were. He kept his touch light, not wanting to aggravate the marks. Not wanting to make it any worse. 

“No,” Yuri said, “Like him. Do it like he does.”

“Yuri —“

“ _Please_ ,” Yuri begged.

 _Do you need to be in control of it? To feel what it’s like if it’s on your terms?_ Victor wondered. He frowned, his gut revolting against the request, but Yuri asked, and Victor could see the hurt in his eyes and wanted more than anything to get rid of it.

His hands tightened. He grabbed onto Yuri, nails digging into his skin through the fuzz of his athletic pants. Worse, he yanked Yuri’s body away from the door, brought him close. His hands clamped down, the whole weight of his upper body behind them, holding Yuri in place.

Yuri gasped. His body tightened up, the reaction unbearable for Victor to watch. 

But then Yuri started to breathe. Forced himself to breathe. Victor watched as Yuri went through every muscle in his body, one by one, and made it relax, until he was pliant under Victor’s hold. 

“Now say it,” Yuri whispered. Victor knew immediately. He heard it in his head, the moment Yuri alluded to it, and trembled. He would never be able to forget that voice. He would never be able to forget the look in Yakov’s eyes when he said it.  

“Go to the desk,” Victor whispered. The grain of that wood was emblazoned in his mind, dark black-brown with gold, and a broad square where paper calendars could fit that had long been empty. The corners designed to hold them in place were filled with dust and tiny shreds of paper from pages ripped out of Yakov’s notebook, and the leather surface always felt gummy under Victor’s cheek. 

But there was no desk here, and so Yuri’s feet carried him to the table instead. Victor trailed him, moving like he was in a dream, and the part of him screaming to wake up couldn’t break the spell.

“Keep going,” Yuri said, like it was a script they both knew. Victor wanted to hold Yuri, to hug him and kiss his forehead and keep him from this hell. But instead he said:

“Stretch.”

And Yuri did. He bent at the waist, perfectly, lowering his chest to the table, and reached with his arms until his fingers locked over the far edge. He set his cheek on the table, eyes half-glazed, tense everywhere. And then, again, he made himself breathe.

“Press against me,” Yuri said, and Victor stepped forward. He was living half in memory, where he was so used to obeying. The front of his hips met the backs of Yuri’s thighs, merely flush at first, before Victor put his weight into the connection. Yuri was shaking, almost convulsing, staring at nothing and trying to breathe. Trying to breathe. 

He breathed. 

The tremors began to subside, the shaking slowed and disappeared, and finally he went still under Victor, the rise and fall of his body even and controlled.

“Did he pet you?” Yuri asked softly, still not looking at Victor, looking into space, or wherever it was his mind went to deal with his trauma.

“My hair,” Victor said.

“Do what he did to you,” Yuri whispered. Victor’s heart ached, but he brought his hand to Yuri’s face, moving like time had stopped. He tucked the loose strands behind his ear ( _my beautiful little angel_ , Yakov would say) then slid his fingers through the dense locks at the back of Yuri’s head. He pulled his fingers down and through, slowly, gently combing Yuri’s hair, over and over. _My beautiful little angel_ , Yakov’s voice echoed in his head.

“That’s the hardest,” Yuri choked. “When he does that. I can take everything else but—“ 

He still didn’t have any tears left, but his body shuddered and he finally looked into Victor’s eyes, his wounds so clear and so raw he might as well have been bleeding out.

“It’s why I cut mine off,” Victor murmured.

Yuri let go of the table, stood up and twisted around. Victor took two steps back to give him space, but Yuri followed, right up next to him, desperate for something but didn't know what it was or how to ask. The next moment he was cringing, growling, pushing Victor farther back. 

“Get off of me,” Yuri said, and he went to the door, slamming it shut behind him. 

 _My beautiful little angel,_ Victor heard in his wake, and he sank to the floor with a sob.


	6. Little Angel

_Come home now_ , the text read, and Yuuri ran. 

He found Victor on the floor, knees tucked up, head resting in the hoop of his arms. 

“Victor!” Yuuri said, kneeling beside him and throwing his arms around Victor’s shoulders. “Victor, are you hurt?”

Victor lifted one of his arms and Yuuri swam into the space it opened. He touched Victor’s stomach, his chest, then his cheek. That was when he felt the tears: wet and sticky trails across Victor’s face.

“Victor…” Yuuri murmured. 

Maccachin came up, head resting on Victor’s knee, and he wrapped his other hand around him.

“Two beds…” Victor said. “Is it because I was pressuring you, Yuuri?”

That was the last thing Yuuri expected.

“N- no,” Yuuri said. “You’ve never… where is this coming from? What did he say to you?”

 _It’s not what he said to me, it’s what I did to him_ , Victor thought. 

“Victor,” Yuuri said. He took both of Victor’s hands in his own, a sign of how serious it was. “ _What happened?_ ”

Victor had the words on his tongue, wanted so badly to speak them and be free of the guilt of concealing this. Or was it more selfish? Did he just want someone who could hear his pain and comfort him? He thought of the way Yuuri would hug him, brush his hair —

 _My beautiful little angel_. 

Victor’s eyes flew open and his hands squeezed down tight on Yuuri’s.

“Yuri… he’s hurting,” Victor said. “He needed something from me. I thought I was helping him but…”

“…Need?” Yuuri repeated quietly. “Victor… why are you keeping secrets from me?”

“They’re not my secrets to share,” Victor said.

“He asked you not to tell me?”

Victor nodded.

Yuuri closed his eyes, tried to stomach the bile of betrayal. He had to convince himself it wasn’t betrayal. If he had a secret, wouldn’t he want Victor to keep it, too? But then…

“…why did you think you were pressuring me?” Yuuri asked. 

“On the ice? When I kissed you? …I’m your coach, Yuri - I shouldn’t have.”

Victor swallowed. It had felt so strange, grabbing Yuri’s hips, and yet so familiar. Why hadn’t Victor protested? Why hadn’t he stopped? Had he inherited more from Yakov than his skating ability? Had he become what destroyed him?

“Victor, you know I like kissing you,” Yuuri said, his voice pulling Victor back to reality. 

_My beautiful little angel_. 

Victor winced and rubbed at his hair, trying to get the voice to go away.

“But do you like when I kiss you?” Victor asked. His head lifted with that question, staring at his fiancé. 

“Victor,” Yuuri said. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and used it to brush Victor’s cheeks, cleaning the tears away. “I love when you kiss me.”

Yuuri dabbed the very edge of his sleeve to the corners of Victor’s eyes, where the tears had gathered. “I’m going to love what we do together when we’re married, too. I’m a bit scared — uh,” Yuuri stumbled, like he hadn’t meant to admit that part just yet, “But I trust you. I trust our love.”

Yuuri smiled, and Victor wanted to think of nothing but that smile. His lips tried to stretch into the same shape as he cupped Yuri’s cheek and kissed him. 

“And none of those secrets change how much I love you,” Victor promised. “Nothing could.”

Yuuri sank into Victor’s lap, foreheads touching. The panic that had been in his eyes receded with that statement. If he had Victor’s love, he had what he needed. Everything else, they could get through together.

“Come on, Coachi,” Yuuri murmured. “Don’t you have to put me to bed so I’m ready for practice tomorrow?” 

Victor let out a soft laugh, a single breath, and stood with Yuuri in his arms. 

“Yuuri,” he said, switching into his coach’s voice, “It’s time for you to sleep.” 

“But Coachi,” Yuuri whined, only he started laughing halfway through. His arms tightened around Victor’s neck, holding on even as Victor kicked back his comforter and laid him down on his bed.

“Go to sleep, Yuuri,” Victor said. He slipped free of Yuuri’s arms, pulling the blanket back up and tucking him in. A few wiggles beneath the covers and Yuuri shed his clothes. Once settled, Victor slid the glasses off his face, closed them with care, and set them on the nightstand. Maccachin, sensing the familiar evening pattern, curled at the foot of Yuuri’s bed.

As Victor undressed, he kept his eyes on Yuuri, and Yuuri watched him, smiling still. Finally, Victor curled up under his covers, turned to face Yuuri’s bed.

They both kissed their first two fingers, then reached across the gap and touched them together. 

“Goodnight, Yuuri,” Victor said. 

“Goodnight, Victor,” Yuuri smiled.


	7. Katsudon

Yuuri pounced on Yuri as he came into the locker room several days later, ignoring the bulk of his coat and skate bag. 

In addition to his usual flinch and hiss of dismay, Yuri immediately glared at Victor, an instant accusation: _You told him!_ but Victor shook his head.

“What are you doing, pig?” Yuri asked, shoving Yuuri off of him. 

“I know something’s going on,” Yuuri said. “Victor won’t tell me what it is, but I hope you feel better soon. Come to our place for dinner tonight? I want to show you something.”

Yuri glared: “I’ll think about it."

——

“Katsudon?” Yuri said when Yuuri put the bowl in front of him. 

Yuuri grinned: “To cheer you up! Both of you. It’s not as good as what my mother makes, but, mm, I think it’s still nice.”

Yuri took up the chopsticks and started to eat. Victor carried the conversation, doting on the meal and talking about things Yuri could contribute to without ever asking him anything directly. It seemed to work: Yuri was his usual self, making the occasional derisive comment and from time to time allowing moments of genuine appreciation. If anything, it was Yuuri who looked tense, and Victor didn’t figure out why until it was too late.

“If Otabek is hurting you we can get him kicked out of the competition,” Yuuri blurted, abruptly, as they were finishing the meal. He slapped a hand over his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to say it, while both Victor and Yuri set down their chopsticks and stared at him.

“ _What?_ ” Yuri said, cold as ice.

“I thought he might be — might have attacked you, and I looked up the regulations — we can —” Yuuri stuttered.

“What are you talking about?” Yuri glowered. Victor watched the tension creep into his form, a feral cat arching its back, trying to look bigger.

“I — it’s the bruises, isn’t it? That’s when this all started,” Yuuri murmured. His eyes were darting back and forth between Victor and Yuri. "Someone must be hurting you; I thought it had to be Otabek — He’s the only one you’d spent time with back then. We can stop him, we can get him kicked out —”

“ _I told you_ they’re from _jumps_!” Yuri shouted.

“Yuuri,” Victor warned.

“No,” Yuuri said, anger and hurt solidifying in his eyes. “Something is wrong. Something is wrong and neither of you will tell me what it is, but I know someone’s hurting you, and now it’s hurting Victor, and I want to _help_ y—”

“Then leave me alone! Stop prying into my life!” Yuri shouted. This anger wasn’t his usual; it was chaotic, on the verge of panic. “Who did you talk to!?”

“N- no one,” Yuuri said, taken aback. 

“ _No one_?” Yuri pressed, looming over the table. He looked ready to spring, everything about him tense.

“I - I asked Yakov for the regulations manual,” Yuuri admitted. “But I just said I wanted to look up jump scoring."

At Yakov’s name, all the tension finally snapped.

“The bruises are _from_ Yakov!” Yuri screamed, slamming his fist down on the table. The bowls leapt from the impact. 

Silence descended on the table, interrupted only by the slow teetering of one of the chopsticks, rolling off the edge of the table and clattering to the floor. Yuri pushed his bowl away from him. 

“Yakov?” Yuuri repeated in a whisper. “But… but he cares so much about you.”

Victor winced. Yuri snorted; a tired, hopeless exhale.

“Doesn’t he,” Yuri said. He stood up, staring out the window to the rink in the distance.  His hands pressed to the window sill, trying to conceal the way his body quivered.

“You can’t let him do that to you,” Yuuri frowned, following him.

“It’s my fault,” Yuri shrugged bitterly. "I haven’t been performing well. Missed jumps. Poor form. When I don’t meet his expectations in training he…” Yuri looked briefly nauseated.

“That’s _wrong_!”

Yuri snarled: “It worked, didn’t it?” And for a split second his eyes shot to Victor, who’d gone still. _Was it worth it, Victor Nikiforov? Five gold medals for your soul?_

Yuuri was trying to recover, starting to collect himself. He reached for Yuri’s arm.

“Yurio - No - you - _press charges_ ,” Yuuri said. "If he’s beating you - that’s assault! That’s — you’ve got to _protect yourself_!"

Yuri threw Yuuri off him and shoved him up against the wall. “What do you know?!” Yuri yelled. “ _Press charges_ like it’s so easy?! And then what? We go to court?!” Yuri shoved his weight against Yuuri, fingers knotted in his shirt. “How long before that happens? What am I supposed to do in the mean time? Watch my career end?” His teeth were bared, his eyes small green circles in a sea of white. “Then what?  I testify against him? My word for his? What if I lose? My career ends. And if I win? My coach is gone. I’m marked forever.”

“But he’s hurting you!” Yuuri struggled against Yuri, pressing at his arms to free himself. It decayed into grabbing and thrashing and finally Victor lifted Yuri up and pushed him into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut between the pair, cutting them off and turning on Yuuri.

“Why did you do that?!” Yuuri cried out. “Why aren’t you helping? Why aren’t you _saying_ anything, Victor?” 

Victor was quiet, just trying to breathe, but Yuuri didn’t give him time to think.

"We have to do something! He can’t just _beat people_! Why aren’t you —"

“Because it’s not just that!" Victor finally yelled. “It’s not just beating!” Yuuri froze, shocked at the anger and volume he’d never heard from Victor before. Tears sprung up instantly at the tone and turned Yuuri’s vision wobbly. Victor’s hand slid through his hair, swiping silver to the side to gaze at Yuuri with both eyes. Remembering.

A dozen lies came to the tip of his tongue, a dozen masks to wear, to tell everyone else it was all OK. 

But it wasn’t OK. And now, staring at his fiancé, at this beautiful man he loved more than life itself, he realized it was time to take off that final mask. A strange calmness took over, all the anger and frustration bleeding out, a silent decision made. When he spoke, his voice was eerily even: not sad, but accepting. 

“Yuuri… ” Victor murmured, taking his hands, no longer trying to hide that his own were shaking. “Come here. Sit down. I … need to tell you something.”


	8. Timeless Story

The tears in Yuuri’s eyes poured over at those words. Victor guided him to the couch, and when he sat Victor knelt before him, never letting go of his hands. It felt like their perfect world was finally falling apart, like an ending Yuuri couldn’t put off any longer. Why couldn’t he breathe? 

“I know this will hurt to hear,” Victor said, “and I understand if… if this changes things. I understand if you want to leave me.”

Yuuri’s heart broke. He tried to keep his sobbing quiet but his shoulders shook and all he could think was _don’t leave me_.

Victor closed his eyes, tears still escaping, and opened the memory. 

“I’d just begun training for my senior debut,” Victor said. He stared into Yuuri’s crying eyes, like he owed him that much. “Yakov asked me to come to his office, just like he’d done a hundred times before.”

A soft noise came from the bathroom as Yuri sank to the floor.

“He told me that, if I wanted to win, I needed to be willing to give up everything for the ice,” Victor said. He had matching streaks on his cheeks, though his voice only quavered. “…. So I told him the ice was my everything.”

With a shaking breath, Victor squeezed Yuuri’s hands. He felt sick, sharing this darkest secret, and terrified - terrified in a way he had never been before - that he would see disgust flash across Yuuri’s eyes. Terrified that this darkness that he’d hid so well, for so long, would finally break free and ruin this one perfect thing he’d found in the world. 

“Yakov told me to stand in front of his desk, and he came up behind me,” Victor said. “I thought he was just hugging me at first.” 

_Don’t be afraid. Yuuri loves you_ , Victor repeated to himself, yet he found the ring on Yuuri’s finger and twisted it slowly, memorizing the feel like he might not get a chance again.

“When he started touching me, pushing down my pants I —” Victor’s voice caught in his throat. He found his eyes could no longer meet Yuuri’s. “I froze.” 

_And I still freeze_ , Victor thought. Yakov’s voice sounded in his head: _He chose this. Just like you did._

“I heard the jingle of his belt buckle,” Victor swallowed. Yuuri’s hands tightened in his. “Then he put his hands on my hips. I remember exactly what he said: ‘Calm down, Vitya. You’ll get used to this’.”

Victor was shaking, like he was a teen again, back in that office, every detail fresh as the day. He could hear the shuffle of clothes. He could feel Yakov’s nails on his hips. He could smell the oil Yakov used in his beard.

“It hurt so badly. When I tried to get away he slammed my chest down on the desk. He told me to be quiet, unless I wanted people to see me like this,” Victor said. “He told me they wouldn’t understand what it takes to create a champion. I’d lose my chance forever. So I stayed quiet and cried.” 

Yuuri choked on a sob, and Victor had never felt so broken.

“He was so kind to me afterwards,” Victor said. “He called me beautiful. He said he would train me to be unlike anyone else. … And I believed him.”

Yuuri slipped from the couch, knees between Victor’s, and his arms enclosed Victor’s body, clutching as if he’d lost someone.

“Yakov was right,” Victor said quietly, arms coming up around Yuuri. Terrified of letting go. “I got used to it. I found ways to make it hurt a little less, and it became a ritual. All he had to say was ‘Go to the desk’.” Victor felt Yuuri shaking against him, sobbing silently. “And I would.”


	9. Agape

“Victor,” Yuuri sobbed. His head was shaking back and forth: willing it to be impossible, knowing it wasn’t. Victor pulled back, terrified that this was it: the end. 

But when he finally met Yuuri’s eyes there wasn’t disgust. There wasn’t anger. His eyes were filled with love and compassion, the deep ache of witnessing Victor’s pain. Yuuri pulled Victor to him and pressed their lips together. 

“I love you,” Yuuri reassured, and Victor sank against him, letting go of his fear with a choked noise of relief. He hadn’t realized how crippling the threat of losing Yuuri was until it dissolved.

“Yuuri,” he whispered, and the pair held each other tight. Minutes passed while Yuuri cried, while they breathed, while Victor collected himself and wiped his tears away. The sun had long disappeared and the darkness settled with them, the light from the kitchenette offering little more than subtle glow.

Then, suddenly, Victor felt Yuuri tense up. He pulled back, found Yuuri staring over at the bathroom door and the shadow-dotted slice of light beneath it.

“It wasn’t just you. Yuri—” Yuuri’s fingers flew to his mouth in realization.

“You don’t know what happened to Yuri,” Victor said quickly. He would try to save whatever privacy Yuri might have left. “That’s Yuri’s story, and he’ll tell you if he wants to. …But now you know mine.”

Victor sat him back on the couch, trailed a hand from his shoulder to his hip and up again.

“You have to report Yakov,” Yuuri said.

Victor’s gaze settled on Yuuri. How do you explain to someone who doesn’t know? How do you convey the dark multitudes to someone who believes it’s so simple?

“Think about what you’re asking us to do,” Victor said, approaching each word slowly, like stepping stones. “You’re asking us to risk our careers. To give up the lives we have now forever.”

Victor saw the confusion pull at Yuuri’s brow.

“You’re asking us to make our abuse public,” Victor said. “You know what happens when things are on the internet. This is our greatest secret, and suddenly it belongs to the whole world?” Victor pressed his fingers to Yuuri’s cheek. “Can you imagine what it would be like, if every time someone talked about you, every interview you had, people knew you as the one who was abused?” 

Yuuri cringed, leaning into Victor’s side.

“I know you want to help,” Victor said. “But the last thing Yuri needs right now is someone trying to make him do something he doesn’t want to do.”

That phrasing made Yuuri recoil, more tears splashing out that he tried to wipe away. A dozen different emotions careened across his face: anger, sadness, anguish, despair. “Then what do we do?”

Victor heard the helplessness in Yuuri’s voice, felt it in the way Yuuri’s fingers dug in his clothes. For a moment, the emotion was so powerful it threatened to swallow Victor too. But his eyes lingered on the crack of light beneath the bathroom door, and he steeled himself and looked at his fiancé. 

“We never judge what he chooses to do - or not to do.”

Victor lifted Yuuri’s chin, laying a soft kiss there. “We never treat him like glass or tiptoe around him.”

He touched his lips to the plum of Yuuri’s cheek. “We never pity him or flinch when we see him with Yakov. We need to help him keep his secret until the day he’s ready to share it… even if that day never comes.”

Another swell of tears, heartbreak. 

Victor kissed the corner of Yuuri’s eye. “We do everything we can to make him comfortable.”

The next kiss fell on the side of Yuuri’s hair. “We support him wherever we’re able, so he can continue to survive.”

Victor shrugged, kissing Yuuri’s mouth at long last. 

“We love him,” Victor said. “With all our hearts. Always.”

“Agape?” Yuuri murmured.

“Agape.”

—— 

With a soft click, a sliver of light appeared in the bathroom doorway, outlining Yuri’s silhouette.

For a moment the scene was still as a picture, then Victor held out his hand, arm open. Tentative as a wild animal, Yuri moved forward, one slow step at a time. He paused just within Victor’s reach, weight shifting, unsure. 

“Come here, Yuri,” Victor encouraged, and guided Yuri down to the couch, into the safety of his arm. Without the light behind him, the red of Yuri’s eyes became clear.

He was a stiff, rigid thing, tense from his toes to the crown of his head. He turned his back to Yuuri, but didn’t move away from Victor’s hold. Victor’s arm rested around Yuri’s chest, cradling him loosely, hand rubbing over Yuri’s obliques. Again, he felt the effort it took for Yuri to relax, the conscious concentration on different muscle groups to uncoil them. But he did it, and eventually he was still, nestled into the crook of Victor’s shoulder, facing away.

Yuuri moved to set a hand on Yuri’s shoulder, to comfort him, but a glance from Victor and a subtle shake of his head made Yuuri lay it down again.

“The very first time,” Yuri said, his voice hardy more than a whisper, “when he c—”. Yuri’s voice cut off and his body went taut again. He let out a noise - pain, anger at himself, frustration at appearing weak. 

Victor just kept his hand rubbing slowly along Yuri’s side, never breaking that rhythm, never pausing the pattern.

“As it was ending,” Yuri said at last, choosing a different turn of phrase, “…he called me _Vitya_.”

Victor’s teeth clicked together, jaw clenching before he could prevent it. _Breathe_.

“Then you knew?” Victor asked. “This whole time?”

Yuri stared away, moving his head just enough to nod.

“He’d said if I wanted to be like you, I had to make sacrifices,” Yuri continued, almost inaudible. “I’d watched you skate my whole life. All I wanted was to skate like you. If that’s what it took…” Yuri’s shoulders shifted, a small fraction of a shrug. “I’d do anything.”

Victor tried with every ounce of his self not to let his hand pause despite the guilt spreading like ice in his veins.

“You always looked so confident. Strong. I thought, if it didn’t affect you, it wouldn’t affect me. I thought it was just my body. He could have my body… I didn’t —”

Victor tightened his arm, pressed a kiss to Yuri’s head. 

“It’s not your fault,” Victor said against his hair, and the words made Yuri shudder, shake his head slowly side to side.

“I _agreed_ to it,” Yuri whispered, haunted. “…He never even had to hold me down.”


	10. Quiet Conversations

“How can he sleep?” Yuri growled as Victor’s slow, steady breathing shifted into almost inaudible snores. How long had they been sitting together on the couch? The conversation had petered off and they’d all been lost in their own worlds, drifting.

“He does that,” Yuuri said, yawning out of exhaustion. “When he’s tired, he can fall asleep during anything.”

“ _Anything?_ ” Yuri sneered. Yuuri blushed bright red. “Oh, that’s right. _Waiting for marriage_.”

It stung more than Yuuri thought it would, and he found tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. It was different, knowing what he knew now. Not that he ever thought Victor was a virgin, but…

Yuri glared upwards as Victor snored again, but stayed where he was, like there was something about the feel of Victor’s chest and arm that he desperately needed.

“We’ll find a way to get you out of this,” Yuuri promised. “I know there has to be a way.”

“I could have gotten myself out, if I’d beaten you at Hasetsu,” Yuri muttered. For the first time, Yuuri recognized all the remorse alongside Yuri’s anger, all of the self-loathing, even if he managed to keep his voice strong. “Then Victor would have been my coach. It never would have even started with Yakov. If I had just done what I did at the Grand Prix…”

Yuuri was still holding Victor’s hand, his fingers laced over the ring, and he squeezed it tight. Yuri blamed himself for everything: not just for agreeing, as if there was even such thing as agreement to something so horrific, but for being in the situation at all. Or…

“Is that why you hate me?” Yuuri asked. 

“Tsch.”

Yuri twisted away again, until it looked like Victor’s arm was going to slip off of him. Then he went very still and reversed his movement, coming to rest again glaring at Yuuri.

“You cry too much,” Yuri said.

“Don’t you cry? After all this?” Yuuri frowned. 

Yuri growled and tried to look away, which was difficult in their current configuration. Victor shifted in his sleep, arms tightening around the pair. Yuuri caught the blush on Yuri’s cheeks, realized just how much he needed the affection he was always disparaging. Something clicked inside of him.

Yuuri wiggled free of Victor’s arm, standing up and tip-toeing over Maccachin. 

“What are you doing?” Yuri hissed.

Yuuri raised a finger, disappeared into the kitchenette. When he came back Victor had slumped over into the empty space, displacing his arm from around Yuri. Yuri sat, dejectedly, glaring at Victor’s sleeping body for the offense. Out of habit, Yuuri tucked a pillow under Victor’s head and arranged his limbs comfortably. 

“Lay down here,” Yuri said, pointing to the concavity made by Victor’s body. “If you put your back against his chest he’ll wrap his arm around you. He always does.”

“I don’t need it,” Yuri said, crossing his arms and looking the other way. 

“I know,” Yuuri said. “It’s OK to like it though.” He held out his hand. “Here.”

In his palm, a silver key gleamed. 

“Uh?” Yuri said.

“Take it,” Yuuri said. “That way you don’t have to knock. You can come here whenever you want.” It took conscious effort not to say ‘need’. “I’m going to try to sleep. Make yourself comfy.” 

He set the key on Yuri’s knee, since Yuri had yet to react, then went and grabbed the blankets from his bed. He laid them down at the base of the couch and curled up, taking off his glasses and tucking them away. He doubted he would be able to sleep, mind swirling as it was, world shaken and disrupted, heart broken on Victor and Yuri’s behalf.

_We love him,_ Victor had said, and so Yuuri looked up at the blond’s silhouette and tried.

——

Victor woke up first, surprised to find blond hair, not black, in his face. He moved carefully, but even just the shift of his body was enough to make Yuri stir and sit up in Victor’s arms. 

His hair was rumpled and tousled, his eyes soft and confused. For three incredible seconds he looked completely innocent and beautiful as he blinked and tried to remember where he was.

“Victor?” he mumbled. And then: awake in an instant, glaring, defensive. “Victor!” 

Yuri tried to leap off the couch, but Victor caught him in a hug, squeezed him, and only then let him go. 

“Good morning,” Victor said. Then, glancing around: “Yuuri?”

“You slept in,” Yuuri said, appearing from the kitchenette. He was wearing an apron, holding a tray laden with eggs, bread, cheese. Even if he’d been the one to suggest it, it hadn’t been the most pleasant thing, waking up to see his fiancé spooned around his rival. He’d gone straight to the kitchen and busied himself as best he was able. “We have to be at the rink in an hour. I thought we could take turns using the shower.”

Yuri dashed to the bathroom. 

Victor sat up, rubbing Maccachin’s head, and then looked at Yuuri. Yuuri’s smile had been pleasant, but alone with Victor he set down the tray and swam to him, taking his hands. Victor could feel the faint tremble in Yuuri’s fingers, see the effort it was taking him to be strong through all of this.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Yuuri shook his head, “You were protecting him. I understand. You said it didn’t change our love. That was true, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Victor said. “I swear it.”

“And you still want to marry me?”

“Yes.”

“And that was your secret?”

“Yes.”

“Then you don’t have to apologize,” Yuuri said, sitting down beside Victor. His expression was tense, but his eyes were determined. “Now eat your breakfast.”

“Yes, Yuuri.”

But Yuuri couldn’t eat a thing.


	11. Accidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to apologize to everyone who's been reading and leaving such lovely notes. I'm having a hard time responding to them, but I will. I also wanted to apologize because I know the story's become... a bit wandersome. I've decided I'll release a condensed version when this is over that sticks more closely to just the dynamic between Yuri and Victor, but I felt like secondary survivorship is a pretty real thing that most people don't talk about too often, and it was important to explore the impact of that trauma on Yuuri. I know it's less poignant, but... well. Anyway. Thank you everyone for reading all the same. We're almost through this <3

Yuuri hadn’t meant to.

Victor had left the rink early after an unexpected call. _Family business, don’t wait up_. Yuuri had plenty to practice, and without Victor wound up skating long past his normal hour. He was startled out of his reverie by Yakov’s voice.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Yakov called to Yuri. Yuuri realized they were the only two left in the rink. He hadn’t realized the time.

Yuuri stepped off the ice as Lilia and Yakov approached, Yuri skating up alongside him to do the same.

“Clean up and come to my office,” Yakov said.

Yuuri stumbled. 

He hadn’t meant to. 

But it hadn’t felt _real_ until that moment, when he heard how casually Yakov said those words, knowing how catastrophic the reality was. Yuuri couldn’t keep that horror off his face. He half caught himself as he fell, grabbing the wall, and was surprised to feel Yuri reach out to catch him too. 

“ _Baka_ ,” Yuri hissed. 

“Be careful, Yuuri,” Lilia said as he straightened up. 

Yakov didn’t say anything, but there was an unfamiliar darkness in his eyes that made Yuuri cringe and look away. Yuri’s nails bit into his upper arm, chiding, before he let go and walked away from his coaches towards the lockers. 

——

Yuuri found himself outside in his skates, guards chewing on the concrete, unable to go back to the lockers. He felt panicky, Victor and Yuri’s stories playing on repeat in his head. Yuuri trekked back and forth in front of the building, trying to distract himself by flipping through Phichit’s timeline. 

He couldn’t stay there. Yakov would come out next and Yuuri still hadn’t figured out how to look at him without everything showing on his face. There was a restaurant that Victor loved a few blocks away, and Yuuri retreated there, still with his skates, hoping the memories of Victor would keep him calm. 

With his belly full of warm food, Yuuri opted to just walk back to their apartment, skates and all. 

He found Yuri slumped against the wall beside the door, shivering.

“Where’s Victor,” Yuri asked, a strange mixture of bitterness and desperation in his voice that startled Yuuri. 

“Family,” Yuuri frowned. “Are you hurt? Why didn’t you use your key?” 

“Thanks to you. And I tried.”

Yuuri was fumbling with his own key. “You have to pull it closed, otherwise the teeth don’t catch,” he said, already feeling the panic rising in his throat. _Thanks to you_? What did that mean? After another frustrated twist he finally pushed open the door and reached down to help Yuri up. Every step Yuri took was slow, careful.

Painful, Yuuri realized, watching Yuri’s jaw clench tight. 

“What happened,” Yuuri asked. 

“When will he be back?”

“I’ll text him now—“

“Don’t,” Yuri said. Yuuri was going to help him towards the couch, but Yuri pressed towards the bathroom instead. He dropped Yuuri’s arm and stepped in. 

“You’re bleeding,” Yuuri gasped as Yuri turned, but was just met with the door. He paced twice in front of it, awkward as ever in his skates. “Can I get you anything?”

"You've done enough," Yuri spat.

Yuuri sat down on the couch, finally untied his skates, and grabbed his phone.

_He’s bleeding what do I do?_ Yuuri texted Victor.

_Take a deep breath._  
_Is it an emergency?_

_I don’t know. Spot on his pants. Walking funny._

_Ice for bruises. Water for blood._  
_But he’ll want to take care of it himself. Let him._  
_Don’t make him talk. Just listen._  
_Stay calm and strong._  
_I’m coming home._

Yuuri wished nothing more than for Victor to be there. He couldn’t handle this. He felt like crying, screaming, something to get out the knot of emotion in his chest. His brain kept trying to process what happened and he was getting physically nauseous. When he closed his eyes he just heard Victor’s words in his head, over and over: _It hurt so badly_ , he’d said. Yakov had hurt Yuri. Just now. While Yuuri was stuffing himself with food, Yuri was --

_Calm down,_ Yuuri choked. He took a deep breath, staring at Victor's texts. _If you were Yuri, what would make you feel better?_

He went to the kitchenette and flicked on the electric kettle, then grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the dresser. 

“Yuri?” He said by the door. “I have clothes you can change into.”

A few moments later a hand appeared. Yuuri passed off the pants and then went to the kitchen, pouring two mugs and adding a sachet of chamomile tea to each. Once steeped, he tossed the sachets and set one mug down on the table in front of the couch. The other he brought to the bathroom door. 

“I made tea,” he said softly. “If you want any.”

Silence was the only reply. Yuuri pushed down his panic, glad for the door between them.

“If you want me to call someone…” Yuuri started.

“Don’t!”

Yuuri frowned. He brought the tea back to the table and paced in front of the TV, slowly sipping on his mug while Maccachin's head drifted back and forth, watching him. He needed a distraction. Anything. He found a live stream of kittens and turned the volume low. Then he just waited, staring at his chat history with Victor and trying not to think, not to cry.


	12. Invisible Emotions

“I’ll retire,” Yuuri said, when he couldn’t take it any longer.

“What are you _talking_ about?” Yuri growled through the door.

“I’ll retire so Victor has time to coach you,” Yuuri said. “You don’t need to bother with Yakov any more.”

His voice was thunderous with determination, but it died swiftly into silence. Yuuri leaned against the door, listening for anything.

“… Baka,” Yuri finally sighed. “This is my home rink. I can’t leave.…My Grandpa’s here. Victor’s here. Yakov’s here. It doesn’t matter if he’s my coach or not. He’s _here_ , and I have to be too.”

“We could —…” Yuuri started, only to falter.

He heard Yuri’s snort.

“We’ll find a way,” Yuuri said.

The apartment door opened and Victor walked in. He strode immediately to Yuuri, took his hands. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. Yuuri wasn’t, but he nodded all the same, and Victor’s attention turned to the bathroom door. 

“You know, Yuri, if you stay in our bathroom so often we might have to charge rent,” he said, the tease of his voice gentle.

“Tsch.”

Victor continued, but Yuuri couldn’t hear him. He was staring at the TV, trying to find solutions, anything that would make him feel less hopeless. When Victor slipped into the bathroom Yuuri almost didn’t notice, until he looked to the side and Victor wasn’t there, and the tones in the bathroom were hushed, an interplay of calm and angry.

Yuuri sat on the couch and Maccachin sprang into his lap. He stared blankly ahead, until he wasn’t thinking of much at all. He just felt… numb. 

He felt numb as Victor and Yuri emerged. Numb as Victor iced Yuri’s hips and tucked Yuri in to his bed. Numb as Yuri pulled Victor’s hand up into his hair, where Victor pet him and whispered something quietly, on repeat, until he fell asleep. 

Yuuri pretended to sleep, too, until Victor came over and started to lift him. 

“No,” Yuuri said softly. “You take my bed.” 

Numb as he turned away from Victor, settling back down on the couch.

“He might need you.”

—

Yuuri couldn’t sleep. He woke up early, long before either of them, and took Maccachin out for a run. When he left for the rink the sky was still a dark purple color, dawn a distant future. 

He fell. 

Again, and again, and again he fell, until he was at war with the ice, striking it with his blades, shaving out circles and hatches and when the zamboni came around he did it all again. 

Victor found him that way, caught his waist and twirled with him on the ice until they were chest to chest in an embrace, Yuuri panting furiously and Victor just holding him.

“It was my fault, wasn’t it?” Yuuri said, fists tight in Victor’s jacket. “Yakov saw me flinch.”

“Yes,” Victor said, and how forward he was only made Yuuri curl in on himself once more. Victor started skating slowly backwards, drawing Yuuri with him, until they were circling the rink. “I know it’s hard. I know everything you’re feeling. But you have to be strong. You can’t let people see.”

“It’s _wrong_ ,” Yuuri said, lancing the ice with his blade and sending a splash of ice shards into the air. “I want to stop it. I can’t even _look_ at that monster!” 

Victor skated after him.

“But you aren’t hurting him; you can’t hurt him. You’re hurting _Yuri_ when you do that,” Victor said. “It _is_ wrong, but… this isn’t the way to fix it.”

“ _Then how do I fix it!_ ” Yuri screamed, and the few early risers on the ice turned to stare at them as Yuuri fell to his knees and skid along the surface.

His forearms hit the ice, head resting on his wrists, and he let the cool breath wash up against his face. 

“Let’s take a rest day, Yuuri,” Victor said softly, standing at his side.

—-

The numbness took over again as they returned to the apartment and found Yuri just waking up.

When Yuuri emerged from the bathroom after washing the grime off his hands and face, Victor and Yuri were talking quietly. Victor had a tube of petroleum jelly in his hand, holding it out.

“In case he’s mad you weren’t there this morning. Put this on before you go to his office,” Victor said. “Inside, if you can.”

“What are you…” Yuuri started. They both looked up. Yuri blossomed red, grabbed the tube, and bolted. 

Yuuri just kept staring. 

“Some things you can’t fix, Yuuri,” Victor murmured. “You can only make the break a little less painful.”

Yuuri wanted to fight back. To say, again, that it was wrong. To scream that it had to change. To cry that it wasn’t fair, that they shouldn’t be encouraging it, that the only real help was the truth. 

But he did nothing, only stared, and let the numbness take hold.


	13. Cycles Unbroken

“Go to practice,” Yuuri said, curled up in his bed with his face pressed to the pillow. It still smelled faintly of Victor’s shampoo from the prior night, and Yuuri was indulging himself. 

“You aren’t feeling well,” Victor said, sitting beside him. He grabbed one of Yuuri’s feet, splayed limply beyond the blankets, and massaged the red imprints his skates had left. “I should take care of you.”

Yuuri just groaned, pulling his feet under the covers. “Keeping you from practice will make me feel worse.”

Victor sighed and set his hand on Yuuri’s back, rubbing a brief circle. 

“Alright,” he gave in. Victor turned to look at Maccachin, extending a finger. “Maccachin, you take good care of Yuuri while I’m away. Promise?” He held out his hand, and Maccachin immediately filled it with a poodle paw. 

“Good.”

—

Victor swiveled to a stop beside his rink mates, idly wishing he had Yuuri’s stamina. He’d been distracted all day, and berated himself for it. _Yuuri would want you to focus_.

“Where’s your pig?” Yuri asked, guzzling water from his bottle as they relaxed on the rink’s edge. 

“Yeah, what happened? He screamed about fixing something,” Mila said from where she was leaning on the rink wall. Yuri shot a look at Victor, who pointedly ignored his gaze. 

“You heard that? I don’t think he appreciated my coaching,” Victor said nonchalantly. “He’s taking a rest day.” 

“If anyone needs a rest day it’s you,” Mila said, fluffing Yuri’s hair. “First you show up late, now you’re stiff as a board. You should have stayed home.” 

“Mind your own business, baba,” Yuri glared, though Victor caught the flicker of annoyance that he hadn’t been able to completely hide his condition today.

“Let’s run your free skate again, Victor,” Yakov said, and Victor gave a flourishing bow to the other two, skating out to the center of the ice. 

—

After the others had gone home, Victor waited by Yuri’s locker. Yuri came out of a bathroom stall and set the tube on the locker shelf. 

“That was unpleasant,” he said.

“It’ll make a difference,” Victor promised. He set a box of pantyliners next to the jelly, shoved into a sock so they wouldn’t be recognizable at a glance.

“Those are for… ” Victor tried a few different ways of wording it in his head, dissatisfied with all of them. “Those are for the days when it doesn’t all come out right away. This way it doesn’t stain or show up on your clothes later. Good if there’s a bit of bleeding, too.” Yuri made a face of disgust as he looked at the box, but didn’t try to get rid of it or discard it.

“Who taught you all this?” Yuri asked, staring at the little package. 

“I … had a long time to figure it out."

Something shifted in Yuri, like he’d never considered just how long this could go on. He’d always imagined it was a transient situation - always on the verge of being over. He paled, if that was possible, his breathing going shallow for a moment before those purposeful, steady breaths started. 

“How long?” Yuri whispered.

Victor wanted to close his eyes, couldn’t bear the hope and fear and desperation in Yuri’s. He wondered if it was kinder to lie. To let Yuri hope. Maybe if he felt like there was a clear horizon, a light at the end to reach for, he’d be better able to survive. Or was false hope just another kind of cruelty?

“….years,” Victor finally admitted. 

Yuri stared straight ahead, but his lip trembled and his eyes, at long last, filled with tears. When he tried to breathe it came out as a choked gasp and his whole body caved. He hugged his chest, one hand covering his face, as if he could muffle the sobs or hide from the all-encompassing shame. 

“ _No_ ,” Yuri pleaded, and his legs gave out.

Victor moved at once, encircling Yuri in his arms. Yuri fell against him, shuddering with silent sobs. Whatever future he’d imagined shattered at his feet, and all of his bottled pain and sadness and grief burst with it. He poured tears onto Victor’s shoulder, raw and exposed. 

And then the inevitable happened.

“Yuri!" Yakov called. 

Yuri gasped: a choked, hopeless, strangled noise. He clung to Victor, clutched desperately to his frame.

“No,” he begged again. “No…” Victor’s arms tightened, as if that could protect him from this terror, as if it would all be okay if only he could hold on.

“I’ve got you,” Victor promised, returning every bit of pressure Yuri was offering, holding him just as firmly. “You can end this. Don’t go.”

“Yuri!” 

He recoiled like he’d been hit.

“I h-h-have to go,” Yuri said, words broken by heaving breaths. His arms changed from clutching to pushing Victor away, but he couldn’t find the strength to rise. “ _Help me_.”

Victor grasped Yuri’s waist, speaking soft and swift as he lifted him. “It lasted for years but I was alone, Yuri.” Yuri’s hands shook as Victor set him on his feet. “I was alone but you never have to be.” 

“ _Yuri!_ ”

Another strangled noise of anguish.

Victor grabbed the red sweatshirt from the locker, bundling it in his hands and then drawing it over Yuri’s head. 

“We’ll be here for you. We’ll be right here for you, for as long as it takes. Past that. Forever.” Yuri pulled the sweatshirt on, numb and automatic, while Victor tried to get the words out as fast as he could. “If you want to leave, we’ll be here for you, and if you want to stay, we’ll be here for you, and no matter what, we’ll love you.”

“Yuri! Come to my office. _Now_.”

“ _I’m coming!_ ” Yuri screeched, voice breaking. Victor hugged him once more, but Yuri didn’t return the gesture. The summons was undeniable. Yuri teetered, eyes glazing because it was easier not to feel. He saw his future stretched out before him, saw the picture of him standing center on the ice, gold in his hand. 

He made a choice.

“Tell him I ended it, okay?” Yuri whispered. “Tell him I got out, and he doesn’t have to try to fix it anymore.” He pulled a silver key from his pocket and pushed it into Victor’s palm before turning away. 

“Yuri…” Victor said as Yuri’s feet took him from the lockers, towards the open door and Yakov’s dark eyes.

Yuri brushed the remaining tears from his cheeks. He lifted his chin, shaking his head so that his hair floated around his face. He stepped into Yakov’s office: a beautiful, strong, unbreakable creature. For a single moment he glanced over his shoulder at Victor, eyes catching his, holding.

 _It’s okay_ , they said. _It'll be okay_.

And the door swung shut behind him.


	14. Acknowledgments

First and foremost, to [TheVeryWorstThing](http://theveryworstthing.tumblr.com/), who put up with so much of my angst while I was agonizing over this and provided unending support with editing, brainstorming and character consistency. 

Second, to everyone who commented. It’s embarrassing, how good it feels to know others got something out of your creation. I nearly stopped writing midway through, but little notes and kind words finally pushed me onward. I’ve reread some of your comments literally dozens of time. They mean the world. 

Third, to those who are survivors or secondary survivors. I pray I honored those experiences. Know that you are loved, and supported, no matter how you choose to survive. 

And to all those who took the time to read: thank you, thank you, thank you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I played around with [an epilogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9345557/chapters/21171902), I was never satisfied. If you need a different type of closure, feel free to explore, but I believe the story is strongest ending as is.


End file.
